Camille stared at the blank document on her laptop screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. Professor Abernathy's assignment for her Creative Writing seminar loomed over her: "Write a personal narrative exploring a transformative moment from your past." She'd been putting it off for days, but with the deadline approaching, she could procrastinate no longer.

Taking a deep breath, Camille began to type:

The summer before my senior year of high school, I fell in love for the first time. His name was Jake, and he was everything I thought I wanted: charming, athletic, with a smile that could light up a room. We met at a bonfire on the beach, our eyes locking across the flames...

As Camille wrote, she lost herself in memories of that summer. The excitement of first love, the stolen kisses behind the bleachers, the way Jake had made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had. But as she delved deeper into the story, she found herself exploring not just the joy of that relationship, but also its complexities and ultimate end.

...I thought Jake was my forever. But as summer faded into fall, so too did our connection. The spark that had burned so brightly began to dim, replaced by a growing awareness that we wanted different things. Our last kiss tasted of salt – from the ocean or from tears, I couldn't tell...

Hours slipped by as Camille poured her heart onto the page. When she finally looked up, the sky outside her dorm room window had darkened to a deep indigo. She flexed her cramped fingers, surprised to find her cheeks damp with tears.

"Wow," Michelle's voice startled her. "You've been at that for hours. Must be some paper."

Camille quickly wiped her eyes. "Yeah, it's... it's for my Creative Writing class. Personal narrative."

Michelle flopped onto her bed. "Sounds intense. You okay?"

"I'm fine," Camille assured her, managing a small smile. "Just got caught up in old memories, I guess."

"Well, don't forget we have that study group with Steve tomorrow," Michelle reminded her. "For the midterm, remember?"

Camille's stomach clenched at the mention of Steve's name. Since their kiss in the library and the charged brunch at his house, she'd been doing her best to avoid him. But between Michelle's biology class and Steve's persistent text messages about their promised "tour of the city," it was proving difficult.

"Right," Camille said, closing her laptop. "The study group. I remember."

The next day, Camille arrived at the designated study room early, hoping to compose herself before facing Steve. But as she rounded the corner, she found him already there, setting up his materials.

"Camille," he said, his voice warm. "I was hoping to catch you alone."

She tensed, clutching her textbook like a shield. "Professor Carlson, I don't think—"

"Steve," he corrected gently. "Please. And I just wanted to apologize for my behavior at brunch. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."

Camille relaxed slightly, nodding. "It's okay. We both... we both made mistakes. But it can't happen again."

Steve's expression tightened, but before he could respond, the door burst open and Michelle entered, followed by a stream of other students.

The study session progressed without incident, though Camille was acutely aware of Steve's gaze on her throughout. As the other students filtered out at the end, Michelle turned to Camille.

"Hey, I'm gonna grab coffee with Zoe to go over some notes. You good to pack up here?"

Camille hesitated, glancing at Steve. "I... yeah, sure. I'll see you back at the dorm."

As the door closed behind Michelle, the tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.

"Camille," Steve began, stepping closer. "I know you said it can't happen again, but I can't stop thinking about you. About us."

She backed away, her heart racing. "There is no us, Steve. You're engaged. To my roommate's mother, for God's sake."

"I know, I know," he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But what I feel for you... it's different. Special."

Camille shook her head, fighting back tears. "It doesn't matter. We can't act on it. It's wrong."

Steve's eyes fell on her laptop, which she'd left open on the table. "What's this?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Just... a story. For class," Camille said, moving to close the computer. But Steve was faster, scanning the first few lines.

"'The summer before my senior year of high school, I fell in love for the first time,'" he read aloud, his brow furrowing. "Who's Jake?"

Camille snatched the laptop away. "He's no one. It's fiction."

But Steve's jaw had tightened, a flash of jealousy in his eyes. "Doesn't sound like fiction to me. Sounds like you're still hung up on this guy."

"That's ridiculous," Camille sputtered. "It was years ago. I'm just writing about it for an assignment."

"Right," Steve scoffed. "And I'm sure reliving all those memories has nothing to do with why you've been avoiding me."

Camille felt her temper flare. "I've been avoiding you because you're my professor and you're engaged! Not because of some high school boyfriend."

Their voices had risen, neither noticing the door opening behind them.

"What's going on here?"

They whirled to find Michelle standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion.

"Michelle," Steve said, his voice strained. "We were just... discussing Camille's writing assignment."

Michelle's eyes narrowed. "It sounded more like fighting to me."

Camille's mind raced, trying to find a plausible explanation. "It's... it's not what you think. Professor Carlson was just giving me some feedback on my story. Things got a bit heated because... because I disagreed with his critique."

She shot Steve a pointed look, silently pleading with him to back up her story.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, that's... that's right. I apologize if we got a bit carried away. Sometimes academic discussions can become quite passionate."

Michelle looked between them, clearly not entirely convinced. "Okay... well, I forgot my notes, so I came back to grab them. Camille, you ready to head out?"

Camille nodded gratefully, gathering her things. As she followed Michelle out of the room, she risked one last glance at Steve. The longing and frustration she saw in his eyes made her heart ache, even as she steeled herself against it.

Back in their dorm room, Michelle was uncharacteristically quiet as they prepared for bed.

"Hey," Camille said softly. "Is everything okay? You seem... off."

Michelle bit her lip, hesitating before speaking. "Can I ask you something? And you promise to tell me the truth?"

Camille's stomach dropped, but she nodded. "Of course."

"Is there... is there something going on between you and Steve?"

For a moment, Camille considered lying. It would be easier, safer. But the guilt of her actions was already eating her alive. She couldn't add another layer of deception.

"Michelle, I..." she began, her voice cracking. "It's complicated."

Michelle's eyes widened. "Oh my God. There is, isn't there? How could you? He's going to be my stepfather!"

"I know, I know," Camille said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It was a mistake. We kissed, once, in the library. But I swear, nothing else has happened. I've been trying to avoid him, to end it before it goes any further."

Michelle stood, pacing the small room. "I can't believe this. Does my mom know?"

Camille shook her head. "No, of course not. No one knows. Michelle, I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"How?" Michelle demanded. "How did this even start?"

Camille took a shaky breath, then told Michelle everything – from their first meeting at the bar before she knew who Steve was, to the tension at the dinner, to the kiss in the library.

As she finished her story, Michelle sank onto her bed, her expression unreadable. "I should hate you," she said finally. "Both of you. But... I've seen the way Steve looks at my mom. Or rather, the way he doesn't look at her. They're not... they're not right for each other."

Camille blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Michelle sighed. "Mom's always been more in love with the idea of Steve than the actual person. And Steve... I think he proposed because it seemed like the logical next step. But there's no passion there, no real connection."

"That doesn't excuse what we did," Camille said softly.

"No, it doesn't," Michelle agreed. "But it helps me understand it, I guess. So what are you going to do now?"

Camille shook her head. "Nothing. It was a mistake, and it's over. I'm going to focus on my studies and forget it ever happened."

Michelle reached out, squeezing Camille's hand. "For what it's worth, I believe you. And... I forgive you. Just... don't let it happen again, okay?"

Camille nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude for her friend's understanding. "I won't. I promise."

As they settled into bed that night, Camille's mind wandered back to her story – to Jake and that long-ago summer. She realized now that what she'd felt for Jake paled in comparison to the intensity of her feelings for Steve. But unlike that youthful romance, this was a love that could never be.

With a heavy heart, Camille opened her laptop one last time. She scrolled to the end of her story and added a final paragraph:

In the years since that summer with Jake, I've learned that love isn't always simple or straightforward. Sometimes it comes at the wrong time, with the wrong person. Sometimes the greatest act of love is walking away, no matter how much it hurts. But I've also learned that every love, even the ones that don't last, shapes us. It makes us who we are, preparing us for the loves yet to come.

Camille closed the document, feeling a sense of closure wash over her. Tomorrow, she would hand in her story. She would face Steve in class with professional detachment. And she would move forward, carrying the lessons of both Jake and Steve with her into whatever the future might hold.

As she drifted off to sleep, Camille made a silent vow to herself. She would find a love that was uncomplicated, unencumbered by guilt or secrets. A love she could shout from the rooftops, not hide in library corners. It might not burn as brightly or as passionately as what she felt for Steve, but it would be real, and it would be hers.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.